Walking in to work at just before four, Becca shot me a look that I knew could only mean one thing: I didn't lock up last night. I skirted behind the counter, opening the register. I glanced out, hoping Papa didn't see me freaking; if the restaurant lost money on my watch, I was dead. I was worse than dead; I was skelatal.
“Not there, Juliet.” She winked, tipping her head to the booth in the back corner. Looking over, there he was.
I did a double take before running to the front door. I looked out the window, but there was no bike. The only cars in the lot were Mr. Grisham's beat-up Pinto, Mitch's truck and a petrolium truck filling the gas line next door. Becca tapped my shoulder, handing me the pad. I shook my head, and she stopped, realizing.
“Ah.” She nodded, “You've heard.”
I looked down, “My friend told me he's...different.”
“He's definitely different.” She murmured, glancing at the booth “But let me tell you, I've seen that boy come in and out of here enough times to know that whatever they might say, it's probably a load of bull.”
“Is that why you're not afraid? Why you'll serve him?”
“He tips well, he's nothing but considerate.” She shrugged, then nudged my elbow “Now, go serve him before he gets any skinnier.”
I took a breath, bit down on my pursed lips, and walked over to the booth. Off in the distance, I heard the door open, close, and open again; breakfast rush was starting.
“Evening, Indie.” I smiled, pulling the pencil out from my ear “What can I get for you today? Coffee? Cheeseburger? Chicken pot pie's on special tonight.”
Indie looked up, then back down “You should send Becca.”
“Why?” I asked, ignoring the strange whispers from the bar “Would you rather she come over here and take your order? Your table's in my section.”
He kept his face down, speaking softly “I don't want you to get involved in all this.”
“All of what?” I asked, flipping to a new page “Now, what can I get for you?”
He sighed, “Fine. I'll have a coffee, black, and the special. Extra fruit to go, as usual.”
I nodded, “You got it. And I'll box up a piece of marion berry pie, if you don't mind it being a day old.”
Looking up at me, he smiled sadly, “Thank you, Dawson.”
“Of course,” I winked, “Sweetie.”
He covered his mouth, hiding the smile I knew I'd induced. It made me happy to know I'd put it there.
Walking back to the kitchen, I prepared to hand the ticket to Mitch. When I got to the window, Mitch was staring at a group of men at the bar. Glancing over, I saw them mumbling, shooting glances at Indie. They looked just a bit older than me, scruff on their faces that made me think they must be woodsman.
“Be careful, girlie.” He warned, tracking the men with his eyes “This could get ugly.”
I nodded, turning to fill up the coffee cup and setting it on my tray. One of the men, the sleeves of his flannel rolled to his forearms, cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, miss?” He asked, and I turned to face him as he spoke “Ah. You're a new face. That explains it. Cute, too.” His buddies nudged him, and I forced the bile back down my throat.
I kept my face drawn “Is there a problem, sir?”
He rubbed the scruff on his chin, squinting “Well, you see, it seems you've made a mistake.”
YOU ARE READING
Hometown Hero
Teen FictionDawson Bennet never had a permanent home. Traveling from restaurant to restaurant with her dads, no town held her in one place long enough to get comfortable with anyone. And signs don't look good, now that she's become acquainted with Indie, the to...
